


kaleidoscope eyes

by smallcuts



Category: South Park
Genre: Boys Kissing, Drug Use, Fluff, M/M, Mushrooms, Recreational Drug Use, psychedelics, slight angst but it's stan so ofc, stan is just rly gay for kenny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24751057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallcuts/pseuds/smallcuts
Summary: "'I’m thinking we should make tea out of it. I heard you get a more intense trip that way, like even better than cat piss. Oh, and when we’re starting to feel it, we can smoke some more weed. It’s a killer combo!” Kenny babbles. Stan is half-listening; He’s more so focused on the fact that he’s gonna go through with this, and the implications of what ‘tripping’ means. He knows the basics about it, after the big drug scare of fourth-grade years ago and cafeteria talk. There are good trips and bad trips, two sides to every coin."-Stan and Kenny try shrooms together.
Relationships: Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Kudos: 33





	kaleidoscope eyes

Of all the different activities to do, people to see, and the many branching possibilities of a Friday evening, Stan Marsh wouldn’t have guessed he’d be spending it in his empty household alone with Kenny McCormick trying shrooms. Their four man group had left school a few hours ago to go smoke in Cartman’s basement (or in Kyle’s case, watch them smoke wistfully due to his mother having the sense of smell of a bloodhound), and they would’ve stayed longer if Cartman hadn’t rounded up the three boys and kicked them to the curb. He cited that he wanted the television to himself as the reason why, but Stan had a sneaking suspicion it was because he was too high to argue with Kyle and was pissed off at himself for getting that high in the first place.

Kyle had ditched them a half-hour earlier, apparently having forgotten that he and his family were supposed to spend quality time together tonight. It keeps slipping Stan’s hazy mind that his best friend isn’t here, whether he be reminded when he goes to whisper something to the air or, embarrassingly enough, lean on the other’s shoulder.

Kenny doesn’t seem to mind, given that he’s made no move to push Stan off. The duo had been perfectly comfortable like that too, enjoying the comedown from the assortment of bong rips they had inhaled until Kenny is waving a bag of mushrooms in his face and giving him an eerily toothy smile.

“Dude, we have to try them!” Kenny exclaims. Stan slowly lifts his head, snatching the drug from his friend and examining the contents. The mushrooms look unnervingly yellow and had an earthy smell to them. Looking at it objectively, they didn’t appear menacing, but Stan had also only ever smoked marijuana before. This would be the first hard drug he’d try. “Come on, I got them from Kevin for driving his ass to work every day last week, and I want to do it with you.”

Something swoops low in Stan’s stomach at the thought of Kenny saving this just for him, especially because he knows Kenny hates spending any more time with his brother than necessary. The side of him that is actually rooted in reality also knows there’s no other person in the group Kenny would ask anyway, not with Kyle being too straight-edge to try anything other than weed and Cartman? No explanation needed. He’s the default friend, the option Kenny is forced to pick. He thinks for a long moment, hyper-aware of Kenny’s light blue eyes and small smile on him. Leaning up against his bedroom wall, he tilts his head back to stare at his ceiling in lieu of an actual response.

“I’m thinking we should make tea out of it. I heard you get a more intense trip that way, like even better than cat piss. Oh, and when we’re starting to feel it, we can smoke some more weed. It’s a killer combo!” Kenny babbles. Stan is half-listening; He’s more so focused on the fact that he’s gonna go through with this, and the implications of what ‘tripping’ means. He knows the basics about it, after the big drug scare of fourth-grade years ago and cafeteria talk. There are good trips and bad trips, two sides to every coin.

 _‘But what if I have a bad trip…’_ he ponders silently. Stan snaps out of it when Kenny jostles him a bit, giggling lightly to himself. There are a million things that want to pour out of Stan’s mouth about shrooms, weed, Kenny, his nervous hang-ups, everything, but the only word that escapes the holding cell of his brain is a simple “Okay.”

He resolutely ignores Kenny’s dangerously wide grin and ignores the second swooping sensation nestling uncomfortably in his stomach. It’s vaguely reminding him of the countless times he had spent in Wendy’s presence when they were in grade school, but that’s a dangerous pathway to pursue. He doesn’t think about Wendy anymore, not when she seems happier by herself than she ever was continuing a relationship with a sad sack like him. And he doesn’t think about Kenny, at least not actively. His subconscious thoughts have a mind of their own and he’s getting a brief whiff of the old spice deodorant Kenny stole from his brother before he blinks down at his shaking, gloved hands. “Wow, we’re really doing this,” he states dryly.

“Damn right we are! Now come on, we need some tea.” Kenny grasps Stan’s hand and yanks him off the bed in one swift motion, Stan stumbling slightly into the other boy’s personal space. He finds himself behind Kenny racing down the stairs and stops just outside of the doorway to the kitchen. A note from his mom is placed in the center of the dining room table.

‘Stanley,

Don’t get in any trouble tonight! NO girls over!! Shelley’s at her friend’s house for the night if you need anything and your dad and I will be back tomorrow. Stay safe.

Love you,  
Sharon’

He reads over the note twice before he crumples it up and tosses it into the garbage can. Well, she didn’t say anything about boys now did she?

“Dude, do you want lemon in your tea? I think that’s also supposed to make you trip harder… or faster, I forgot which one.” Kenny’s voice rings out from the kitchen. He’s perched on the counter, absentmindedly stirring his own mushroom-infused abomination of a tea while waiting for Stan to reply.

“Did you put any in yours?” asks Stan, propping himself up on two arms against the counter. The angle Kenny’s at should be unflattering but somehow he still manages to resemble an angel at any given time, not that he’s jealous of the other boy’s looks or anything. But it is a little unfair. Kenny smirks wolfishly while Stan quickly averts his attention to his own cup of tea. Something about that smile never failed to make him feel queasy. At the rate his heart is going, he almost feels as if he’s back in grade school puking his guts out all over Wendy’s new shoes. It’s _really_ unfair.

“Not yet, but you know what? I’m gonna go for it!” Within the span of two seconds, Kenny has snatched both of their beverages and started rummaging through the refrigerator, eyes lighting up when he locates a lemon. Stan’s about to protest the tampering of his poor cup of tea but then again, he can’t ever seem to say no to the boy in front of him. Maybe it’s the universal charm Kenny holds over everyone in his immediate vicinity, maybe it’s not just him that feels as though he’s been sent careening off of a cliff with no end in sight whenever Kenny is happy. But then again, Kyle and Cartman don’t elicit the same reaction from him that Kenny does. God does he _hate_ blondes.

“Bottoms up!” Kenny exclaims as he hands Stan his tea. He makes a show of clinking their beverages together before he’s taking the largest gulp of tea Stan has ever bear witness to. And then he’s promptly scrunching his face up in a manner Stan wishes he could say was unattractive. And fuck, if he doesn’t get his shit together before the drug actually hits him, he’s gonna hate himself more than he already does. What would Kenny say if he knew what sorts of thoughts have been running through Stan’s mind? And why is he having such a hard time managing himself in the first place? He wishes he were still high.

Sighing, Stan drinks a sizable amount of tea and gags at the texture of earth-flavored mush in his mouth. He’s supposed to finish this crap? Why couldn’t they have dabbled in acid instead? One measly little tab has to taste better than the sad, lumpy mushrooms currently invading his senses. Reminding himself that it’s for Kenny and that he would prefer to be high and not dwell on the unwelcome thoughts he’s been plagued with, he downs the rest of it and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“I feel like I just swallowed a bunch of dirt,” he states bitterly. Kenny laughs and pinches his cheek in a teasing manner.

“That’s the spirit, baby!”

After cleaning up their dishes, they make a unanimous decision to park themselves back in Stan’s room. They’re halfway through an argument about whether to listen to Frank Ocean or Drake when Kenny leans over to clap a hand over Stan’s hand. “Dude,” he says conspiratorially. Stan instinctively licks his palm, pissed that he’s being silenced when he’s arguing that Channel Orange is clearly the superior choice but Kenny appears unbothered. “We need to pack a bowl before we don’t remember how to.”

They stare at each other for a good couple of seconds, Stan narrowing his eyes at the mischievous look on Kenny’s face. Their battle of wills is unfortunately broken by Kenny very unsubtly scooting the pipe and the weed grinder in front of Stan’s crossed legs. It’s unnerving how long Stan has held eye contact with the other boy but it’s as if he’s held in place under the icy blue ocean of his friend’s eyes. He then realizes what Kenny is attempting to do.

“I’m not packing it.” He says sternly, crossing his arms over his chest and backing away from him.

“Oh come on! I fucking hate packing bowls. Aaaand I bought us shrooms!” Kenny whines, pushing himself up to crawl into Stan’s personal space. Stan backs away further and further but Kenny is relentless in his efforts to avoid his usual bowl-packing duties. “Please? I’ll let you have the first hit!”

“Dumbass, I was already gonna take the first hit.” Stan rolls his eyes, shooting a leg out to kick Kenny away and begrudgingly plucking the weed off of the floor. “Back off.”

He doesn’t notice the slight frown that overtakes Kenny’s features as he concentrates on squashing their weed in with his finger, but he does take note of the way Kenny is staring at his outstretched leg like it holds the secrets to the universe. “You good?”

Kenny snaps his head up, pupils ever so slightly enlarged. “Y-yeah.”

Stan raises an eyebrow; He didn’t think the shrooms were gonna kick in this early. If the blonde thinks he can handle it though then he won’t be the one to stop him. “Well come on then.” He jerks his head towards his windowsill, but Kenny seems to be preoccupied with gaping at him, his mouth slightly hanging open. “Oh my God, let’s go.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and extends a hand to his friend on the floor, heaving him up with little effort.

They smoke the bowl with little conversation between them, namely because Kenny has been eyeing him from the moment Stan had stood up. He really wants to say something to break whatever invisible barrier is in the middle of them, but he’s unsure of what to say. How does one nicely ask their friend to quit looking at them without sounding weird? The situation is making him extremely uncomfortable though; He doesn’t know whether to revel in the other boy’s attention or if he wants to melt completely into the floor.

He settles instead on intently watching the wisps of smoke journey out of his bedroom window with a renowned vigor; They seem as if they are performing an elaborate little dance routine upon their exit. The biting air of outside’s winter chill hardly registers as he stares, transfixed. It feels like years have gone by when Kenny snaps an irritated pair of fingers in front of his face, following his fingers down to their empty bowl.

The inside of Stan’s brain is starting to feel like mush as he allows Kenny to gently guide the duo to Stan’s bed. Has Kenny’s hair always been so… blonde? The other male is babbling about something he’s sure is nothing important, but it all goes in one ear and out the other as he drinks in the ever-changing view of his friend. This must be what tripping is.

Stan casts a wide-eyed glance to the palms of his clammy hands, enraptured by the squiggly lines of the creases and folds. Just like the weed smoke, those lines were doing a weird dance of their own and all he could do was be a helpless bystander to the commotion. He barely registers the mop of blonde hair invading his view until it speaks.

“What’s so fascinating?” Kenny asks softly, taking Stan’s hands into his own. Their fingers look like they’re melting together and breaking apart all at once, an elaborate play of the rules of magnetism. He doesn’t even think to push the other boy away like he normally would, too transfixed by every little motion their hands were capable of. He alternates between gripping Kenny’s hands tighter and loosening the grip, watching the fluid motions with a close eye. It has to be connected to something, a bigger picture of sorts.

“They’re dancing. Our hands. It means something.” Stan mutters dumbly. His voice sounds eerily distorted to himself, but it’s not about him, it’s about their interlocked hands. Kenny shifts imperceptibly closer, leaning the tops of their heads together.

“What does it mean to you?” He questions lowly. The sudden tone change triggers a weird shiver that runs its course through Stan’s body but it is by no means an unwelcome sensation. Everything meant so much more in that moment, their shitty little mountain town, the boy seated far too close for comfort in front of him; He felt like they could fold the universe up into a cheap model of origami paper, like they were invincible- and when did he start thinking about origami?

“Origami.” Stan says aloud. A hysterical laugh rips out of Kenny’s throat, and then they’re both tumbling down on the bed in a swirl of the too-bright colors of his bedsheets and the awful orange hue of Kenny’s signature bottoms. His laughter is contagious; Stan can hear himself shaking with an unbridled amount of laughter himself. It feels like an out-of-body experience, the way their laughter fills his small room to the brim, the way he can’t sense himself laughing but knows it’s still _him_. They don’t calm down for what must only be a short couple of minutes but feels, again, like centuries to Stan. His sense of time has long since given way to the never-ending euphoria of existing second-by-second; A broad grin overtakes his facial features as he realizes he’s going to have a good trip.

Maybe it’s thanks to his friend next to him, with the sunshine personality his life circumstances never dimmed. They’re like yin and yang; God knows he was a depressing character to be around but in the areas where Kyle couldn’t complement him, it was as though Kenny completed him wholly. Stan would bend the universe to Kenny’s whims if he so asked.

“Your eyes are blue.” Kenny states. It interrupts the cheery inner monologue Stan had flowing through his mind so abruptly that he shoots up at the sound of his voice. He snorts from behind the hand he had jerkily raised up to his mouth, cracking into an even bigger grin if that was possible once he caught sight of Kenny sprawled all over the other half of his bed.

“Your eyes are blue too.”

They hold eye contact for another eternity, the only sound pouring out from the dumb Drake song Kenny must’ve sneakily queued when Stan wasn’t looking earlier and their own labored breathing. The song choice wasn’t important though, not when he found himself hypnotized by the fragmented shards of cyan, teal, turquoise, and every other light shade of blue that the human eye could perceive. The colors were slowly overtaking his field of vision and staying still was all Stan could do not to drown in the sight of it all.

“You meant what you just said?” Kenny says, rubbing a sheepish arm down the expanse of the fabric of his other arm.

“What’d I say?”

“I complete you.”

They both truly attempted to stay serious, but looking at Kenny’s awestruck face immediately set off another round of body-wracking giggles through Stan’s body. Had he been thinking out loud the entire time?

A sensation unlike any he’s felt before courses through him as Kenny presses a feather-light kiss to his open mouth; It couldn’t have been just a kiss with the amount of texture he could detect and yet when Kenny’s reeling back, eyes the size of the moon, he distantly remembers that he’s supposed to do something with himself in a situation such as this one.

With an iron-clad resolve, Stan angles himself back down to the soft curve of his friend’s lips, adrenaline (and honestly, an ungodly amount of mushrooms) coursing through him as the taste and smell of lemon, cheap cologne, and whatever lavender-scented detergent lingers in Kenny’s clothes threatens to overload him.

They spend the rest of the six-hour trip conversing about the universe, how much they _really_ enjoy psychedelics, and how Stan swears he was being possessed by the music playing faintly from his speaker. A large volume of innocent kisses are exchanged throughout the night as well after Kenny demolished the barrier between them, as Stan has all but forgotten how to use his tongue for anything other than the basic action of speaking.

Once the world stops being so bright and the intricate lines of the walls of his room slowly halt the swaying motions they had been subject to through shroom-tinted lenses, Stan finally feels like he can catch his breath again. His body is positively exhausted but the notion doesn’t register with his mind and its current traveling speed of ninety miles per hour.

For a long, agonizing minute after the comedown has desisted gripping the two boys’ psyches so hard, Stan wonders if Kenny had actually meant any of their million little kisses shared tonight. They could easily blame it on the drugs after all, although Stan’s unsure of whether or not psychedelic-motivated doings are as easy to deny as actions undertaken by the influence of alcohol or marijuana. He’s too afraid to give his insecurities a voice however, afraid of how Kenny will react if he finds out there was underlying meaning to every one of Stan’s words and actions tonight (even if the meaning of which was stupid to hell and back).

Kenny glances over at him and, one by one, interlaces their fingers together. “Just so you know, I think you’re everything. You always have been.”

Stan squeezes his hand lightly in return. They’ll be okay, that’s just how they complete each other.


End file.
